


Harry Potter - A Life After The Death

by becca444



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:35:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29702751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becca444/pseuds/becca444
Summary: Harry has finally beaten Voldemort and now needs to work out his feelings of love and loss. This fanfic follows Harry's life after Hogwarts and (eventually) continues past the 19 years later scene in Deathly Hallows to create a somewhat comprehensive story of his later life. It is mostly canon compliant (Cursed Child isn't canon, All The Young Dudes is) except for a few exceptions. Where information isn't given or is incomplete I have used my artistic license :)This is my first ever fanfic so please be kind, and leave any comments about plot ideas if you want to share them!I'm mostly doing this for myself so chapter's will be random and not scheduled, just based off of when I have time to work on this.
Relationships: Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown/Padma Patil, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. The Beginning of The End

Harry woke up to the sun streaming through the window of his old dorm. He watched for a while as the shadows danced on the floor of the room, creeping up the walls gracefully and beginning to grace the side of his face through the gap in between the curtains. For these blissful moments he tried to fight off the thoughts threatening to invade his peaceful silence and absently wondered when the last time was that he could lie somewhere and just _be._ He slowly began drifting out of this comfortable daze and remembered how he had longed to be able to just go home the night before. But he didn’t know where home was anymore, not really. He always thought it was here, at Hogwarts, surrounded by his friends and chosen family. But in the light of the late morning, it didn’t feel quite the same, something had shifted inside and he felt small swirls of discomfort rising within him. He looked around and realised that he was alone but couldn’t tell if it was a blessing or a curse. Still, he felt an emptiness growing in him from somewhere that he hadn’t felt for a long time, not since… _Sirius_. Then it all came crashing back to him. He knew it had always been there, in the back of his mind, but in a moment of weakness it rose up, attempting to throttle him from the inside.

_James. Lily. Sirius. Dumbledore. Remus. Tonks. Fred. Colin._

_James, Lily, Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin._

**_James Lily Sirius Dumbledore Remus Tonks Fred Colin._ **

The chorus swelled within him until he felt he was suffocating under the weight of them. He could almost feel their limp bodies pressing down on him: forcing the air out of his lungs like breathing was a gift that he did not deserve to possess. Then, a name appeared, shouting slightly louder than the rest. _Snape._

He cried.

He cried for Colin, who had only managed to live sixteen precious years before his life was so cruelly swept out from under him. He cried for Dennis, who had probably only just found out that his brother had snuck into Hogwarts to fight a war he didn’t truly understand and would never be able to walk out again. He cried for Fred who had lived a life of laughter, only for it to be cut short; with the ghost of his last laugh etched upon his face. He cried for George, who had lost a brother, a friend and, harry was sure, himself. He cried for Remus and Tonks and their little baby Teddy, who would grow up never knowing how much his father loved chocolate, or how his mother always managed to bring light to the darkest of nights. He cried for Dumbledore, who had taught him what he needed to succeed. He cried for Sirius, the first family member who made him feel like he truly belonged, the first family member he had fully loved, and the first he had let go. He cried for James and Lily and Hedwig and Dobby and Moody. who gave themselves up so he could lead a life worth living. Finally, he cried for himself.

Once he started, he couldn’t stop, and he felt the grief of all that had happened swallow him like a tidal wave, dragging him further and further away from the shore. He realised that in the past year he had never had the chance to truly mourn and was now playing catch-up with the awful pain in his chest. He wondered if he would feel the joy of riding a broom for the first time ever again, or if his thoughts would be swamped with all those who could no longer fly in the clouds, but soared high, high above instead. He wondered if he would ever feel the happiness of true, fierce friendship, or if his friends would blame him just as much as he did. He wondered if he would ever feel the wonder of Diagon Alley ever again, or if he would only be able to see the joke shop that would never quite be the same. Most of all, he wondered if he would ever be able to escape this awful grief that had swallowed him whole and was now punching and kicking at him.

He cried until his eyes were dry and his throat was hoarse, and his head ached, and then he cried some more. By the time he stopped he felt truly exhausted, and all he wanted to do was sleep. So he did.

* * *

_He walked into the Great Hall and called to his friends, slowly they turned around to see him and Harry let out a gut-wrenching scream. Ron’s face was dripping with blood and Hermione’s was pale and hard. He felt that they were staring, but couldn’t tell as their eyes had rolled back, deep into their skull, never to look out on the world again. He turned, frantically trying to get back to reality and bumped into the decaying carcasses of the twins. George’s missing ear had been replaced by a rapidly decaying hole through his head, and Fred was propped up next to him for support. He turned around once more and saw the rest of the Weasley’s. Ginny was stooped low, struggling to stay upright while Arthur and Molly both had horrifyingly clean slits through their necks. He turned around once more and was suddenly surrounded. On the inner circle were his parents and his closest friends and family. Surrounding them were the fallen fifty, who Harry couldn’t even name – he felt ashamed. They all had the same sunken, white eyes, the same wicked smiles and the same pale faces. They moved in closer, suffocating him and began to speak softly to him:_

_“You killed us, Harry Potter”_

_“We never should have died for you”_

_“You are weak, and selfish, and a disappointment, Harry Potter”_

_“you killed us, Harry Potter!”_

_“You killed me, Harry Potter!”- Colin Creevey’s abnormally low voice stuck out from the rest as they all began to suffocate him._

_“Harry!”, “Harry!”, “Harry!” they chanted as they slowly sucked the last air out of his lungs._

* * *

“Harry! Wake up! Harry, it’s just a dream. Harry!” He jolted awake to Hermione fervently shaking him.

“Oh my God Harry are you alright? What in Merlin’s name was going on?” asked Hermione, trying, and failing, to mask the concern in her voice

“We heard you screaming from the common room and when we got here you were shaking like mad, we couldn’t wake you!” Supplied Ron, with an equal level of concern.

Harry just lay there, drenched in sweat and struggling to breathe. It all felt too real, too true to be just a dream, and yet there they were, Ron and Hermione were standing above him , their faces the picture of worry, but without the blood or sunken eyes of his dream. They are fine, he told himself. They are just fine. As his breathing slowed, he managed to sneak out a reply: “Bad dream. Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout”

“Oh Harry!” comforted Hermione as she enveloped him into a hug “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, thanks” he replied, trying to avert his gaze and focus on his slightly shaky breaths.

“Are you sure? You can talk to us Harry, you know that right?” Hermione asked tentatively and in that moment her soft, comforting voice sounded just like his mother’s had, once.

“Nah, I’m alright, don’t worry about it” She stared back at him worryingly and as she was about to argue with him, Ron stepped in: “Come on Hermione, let’s let him get dressed and showered. Mate, come down to find us when you’re done, alright?”

“Yeah alright… thanks guys”

Harry watched as Hermione and Ron left the dormitory and sat for a minute, before realising that Ron was probably right, he definitely needed a shower, and he would need to come out from the tower eventually, right?

* * *

He stood in the shower for what felt like hours as the steaming hot water flowed over him, washing him clean from his sweat and tears. The dirt from the battle the day before was a little harder to remove, so he took to scrubbing it lightly with a flannel and some scented soap. He didn’t really know what it smelled like, nor did he care. Many of his scratches and cuts stung in the process, but he welcomed the pain as an old friend and found it comforting, constant force in his life through the good and the bad. Then he took the shampoo bottle and lathered it on his hair. When the water turned a slightly murky brown around him, he realised just how long he had gone without a shower. Disgusting. Finally, he examined his injuries, and began noticing the constant aching he felt radiating from inside of him, no doubt remnants of the multiple cruciatus curses he had undergone in the forest a lifetime ago. He recognised the lump rising in his throat and attempted to hold it off by continuing his examination. He moved down to his legs where he noticed several deep, and surprisingly painful, uniform cuts going along his calves. He felt he had a brief recollection of Bellatrix uttering a couple curses on him herself but couldn’t remember exactly what. Once more he needed to quell the growing tightness in his chest and decided instead that it was about time that he got out of the shower.

When he got out of the shower, he suddenly realised that he hadn’t any clothes to change into. Wrapping his towel around him, he left the bathroom and walked into the dormitory to find Kreacher standing there as if by magic with a fresh set of clothes.

“Kreacher thought Master Harry might need fresh Robes so Kreacher has brought him some of Master Regulus’s”

“Thanks, Kreacher, You’re an absolute lifesaver!”

“Would Master Harry like anything else?”

Harry thought for a minute. He had been all too aware of the pang of hunger bordering on starvation in his stomach. He desperately wanted to ask him for a sandwich, but he knew that he had promised to meet his friends in the common room, and he would have to leave the tower eventually.

“No thanks Kreacher. Go get yourself some rest, okay? You seem tired.”

“Thank you Master, Kreacher will get some sleep.”

And just like that he vanished, and Harry was alone once more.

He struggled to get the clothes on over his stinging calves but found them to be the perfect fit. Harry thought they were probably the most expensive robes he had ever worn, but it felt nice wearing something so closely related to Sirius. There it was again, that awful tightening in his chest and lump in his throat. In their time ‘on the run’, Harry had thought he’d had enough time to grieve Sirius, but in the wake of the battle he felt more alone than ever and was longing for somebody to show him the way.

Once he was finally ready and had quelled the pain rising in him once more, Harry prepared himself to go down to the common room. He wasn’t sure what he would find there but he was starting to enjoy the solitude he had granted himself over the morning. He took a brief look out of the window, and guessed it was an hour or so after midday-lunch should still be being served. The thought of some really good food overcame him and his nerves faltered slightly. In this brief moment of resolve, Harry opened the door and began heading down the stairs before he could stop himself.


	2. Dennis Creevey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes his way to lunch on the first day after the Battle of Hogwarts and struggles to deal with survivors guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T.W. Brief mention of harmful thoughts

Just before he entered the common room, Harry began to wish he had brought his invisibility cloak with him, just so that he could see what he was facing when he entered. Nevertheless, he pushed the door open and entered the room to a pleasant surprise. He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting to see, but it wasn’t a tight group of his closest friends sitting around the fire. To his relief, they were the only ones in the room. As he entered, they all looked up and smiled at him. Hermione and Ron were snuggled together on one end of the sofa, and Ginny was sitting on the other end twiddling with her hair. He always loved how she did that. Neville and Luna were sitting in adjacent armchairs. Harry assumed he had interrupted a funny conversation between them, as he could still see the twinkle of laughter behind their eyes. Next was dean and Seamus, sharing an armchair opposite. Harry thought this was peculiar since there were plenty of other seats for Seamus to sit in, but he didn’t think much more about it.

“Heya Harry! Come sit here, we’ve saved you a spot” called Ginny.

Harry walked towards the end of the sofa where ginny was sitting and clambered onto it gingerly. He was secretly hoping that they weren’t going to talk about the battle but was even more worried that they were staging an intervention. Somewhat luckily, it was the former, and Neville and Luna resumed their story:

“So anyway, I saw somebody running up behind her and tried to warn her, but it was too late! Just as I yelled, they reached her, but she was already one step ahead. She turned around just in time to throw a crystal ball clean at his head and he fell to the floor just like that. It was brilliant!” Laughed Neville

“Well, I did get some help from you though, didn’t I” giggled Luna: “If it weren’t for your mandrakes, I would probably have been attacked by 3 people at once”

Neville blushed and the rest of them laughed, though Harry wasn’t really sure why. The story wasn’t even funny, but the group seemed to find it hilarious. Probably because everyone was so desperate to have a laugh together. A comfortable silence fell upon the group and they all sat deep in their thoughts for a minute. Harry, sensing the danger of this, began to feel slightly anxious but was saved by the ever-hungry stomach of Ron Weasley:

“Right! I’m bloody starving! If we go to lunch now, then we should still get some good nosh and it will be quieter then normal.” The group hummed in agreement and then looked anxiously at Harry who still wasn’t sure if he could face all those people.

“It’s okay Harry. Nobody expects you to do anything, okay?” Ginny assured him and he reluctantly agreed.

Together, they left the common room and headed down the many staircases to the great hall. On the way down, Harry couldn’t help but notice how much damage had been done to the castle. Even worse were the occasional blood stains on the walls or floors that they passed. Every time Harry saw one, he needed to fight the urge to scream. In the dormitory he felt somewhat safe from his own mind, but out here, he felt vulnerable, like a danger to himself. It wasn’t a happy feeling, and it was all he could do to keep himself walking forward, taking each step one at a time.

* * *

By the time they reached the Entrance Hall, Harry felt completely drained, which was peculiar since he had been sleeping for most of the morning. Just as he began emotionally preparing himself for whatever lay behind the doors, he started to quesiton whether he would always feel this apprehensive to walk through doors. They were just doors, after all.

To Harry’s surprise, Professor McGonagall was waiting for them. He was expecting this to fill him with feelings of dread, and was desperately reluctant to talk about the battle, but he knew he needed to eventually. In reality, her presence calmed him. He had never thought of her as a mother figure, but more as a guiding force; although seeing the look of muted apprehension on her face turn to a restrained glee when he arrived was transformative enough to show him just how wrong he truly was.

“Harry” began McGonagall, “It’s really good to see you. Are you doing well?”

“erm… yeah” replied Harry, obviously lying but too tired to keep up the façade.

“I was wondering if you might want to eat dinner with me in my office tonight?”

“Sorry Professor but I really don’t think-” Ginny began before Harry interrupted her.

“Yes. Please. I think I would like that” Ginny and Hermione shared a look. He didn’t know what made him say it, since what he wanted to do most in the world was hide, but something about her smile made him feel safe. And safe had been in short supply recently.

McGonagall said a few brief words to the others before she led them into the Great Hall. Harry didn’t feel like he needed to be escorted but he was grateful for the company all the same. When they walked in everyone looked up. It seemed like they had been waiting for this moment for their entire lives, and perhaps some of them had. Most clapped, some wolf whistled, and others cheered. It was all a bit of a blur to Harry who refused to look up or enjoy the cheering. How could he when so many would never cheer again?

They made their way through the Great Hall before finding a seat at the end of one of the long dark tables. Upon looking up briefly and scanning the scene Harry thought that they had seated themselves at the Slytherin table, but on further inspection he realised that his classmates were no longer divided by the colour of the tie. There was hardly a group without a combination of houses, and everyone seemed happy with their new company. He also noticed how many of the older students were sitting with the remaining younger ones. Some looked sad, were maybe even crying, but the overall feeling was one of celebration and unity. Harry liked that, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was to blame for the missing younger students… and all of the dead ones.

Another thing he noticed was the absence of the other Weasley’s. Harry was expecting them to be here but felt somewhat relieved when they weren’t. It was hard enough to look Ginny and Ron in the eyes- but how could he look at the mother whose son died on his account? He couldn’t bear the thought, so instead decided to lower his gaze once more and pretended to be thinking hard about his lunch choices. In the end he just grabbed one of the nearest sandwiches and piled some leafy salad onto his plate. Suddenly he wasn’t all that hungry anymore.

It was clear to Harry that the students had been told not to disturb them, and he was grateful for it. He sat in the middle of the group but felt more like an outcast than ever. He was half-listening to their conversation about Professor Trelawney’s success in the battle- when she ran out of crystal balls, she decided it would be best to just scream in the enemy’s face (which had an alarmingly high success rate) and for a few minutes the entire Divination department were screaming at the top of their lungs. Harry absent-mindedly grinned at the idea of this but quickly chastised himself for being so complacent and enjoying himself in the hall where so many lay dead just hours before.

The rest of the group were in fits of laughter at the thought of Trelawney becoming a fearsome warrior, but Harry had noticed a commotion at the entrance to the hall. Just as the rest of the laughter began to die down, Harry noticed a young boy he was sure he recognised had broken free from the disturbance and was half-marching, half-running towards the front of the Hall. For a brief second Harry though that he must simply be very hungry, until the boy turned towards him and began shouting as he got closer:

“YOU! YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED MY BIG BROTHER!” It took him another moment before he realised that it was Dennis Creevey who was hurtling towards him, the anger and hurt in his voice was palpable, and Harry felt his heart shatter at the slight quiver in the young boy's voice.

“HE WORSHIPPED YOU! YOU WERE MEANT TO PROTECT HIM! HE SHOULD BE HERE LAUGHING WITH HIS FRIENDS. NOT. YOU!” Harry stared back, unwilling to let those words penetrate his mind, even though he knew that they already had. The rest of the hall was piercingly quiet, and Harry felt that Dennis was merely stating what everyone else thought.

“YOU DID THIS! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS? HOW COULD YOU…” Dennis trailed off as he fell to the floor, unable to stand under the weight of his grief

“He worshipped you. And you killed him.” This came out as barely a whisper but shook Harry to the very core. He wanted to comfort the young Gryffindor, to tell him that it was okay, that things would get better, that _it wasn’t his fault,_ but he knew Dennis wouldn’t believe him if he did, and secretly, Harry felt exactly the same way. Dennis was right, Harry had killed Colin, and Remus, and Tonks, and Fred and everyone else. He was naïve to think otherwise.

* * *

The weight of the scene only fully hit Harry when he saw Mr. and Mrs. Creevey standing at the entrance, the picture of grief. He knew, when he saw her eyes, that she blamed him too, and Harry felt like he was imploding. Normally he could count on his somewhat fiery temper to protect him during a fight, but he had no anger left to feel, no sadness left to give. No happiness to look forward to, and no life he wanted to live. He watched as McGonagall ushered Dennis back to his parents and saw the tears in her eyes; he had disappointed her as well. Once they had left, the Hall fell silent once more, until slowly the quiet conversations resumed. Harry felt numb. He thought that his friends were trying to talk to him, but all he could hear was muffled whispers, and those horrible, pained yells over and over again: “YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED MY BIG BROTHER!”. 

Without saying another word, Harry stood up and left the hall.


	3. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes to eat Dinner with McGonagall and he begins to work through some of his truma

Harry took a deep breath and then knocked on Professor McGonagall’s door. Since the incident at lunch he had tried to isolate himself- like usual I suppose, but his trusty friends disrupted his lonely moping halfway through. Instead, they all sat in the dorm together, not doing a whole lot, just enjoying each other’s company. Ginny had asked Harry if he wanted to talk about it and he (politely) refused, but did thank her for caring. He knew he would need to talk to her eventually, and the pointed look on her face reminded him as such, but now just _wasn’t_ the time.

Once it had reached 6:30 Harry had to prepare himself once more to walk through the common room doors and make the trek to McGonagall’s office. Luckily, the castle was deserted, but if anything, the silence penetrated his mind more than Dennis’ screams ever could. This was a school after all- shouldn’t it be filled with learning and laughter, not silence and despair?

* * *

Minerva McGonagall had done her best to keep the mourning families away from the remaining students. She wasn’t expecting trouble, exactly, she was just apprehensive about what might happen- and she couldn’t have been more accurate. She knew that every word that Dennis had shouted felt just as true to Harry as it did to Dennis. In the grief of it all, acceptance and understanding seemed incredibly hard to come by.

She assumed that Harry, or rather, Harry’s friends, had recounted to each other the events of the last year and were probably quite filled in on the whole ordeal, but Minerva was not. She had her suspicions, of course, but she needed to talk to Harry to properly understand the events of the days and weeks before. More importantly though, she wanted Harry to _talk_ about it. Minnie knew all too well the loss Harry was feeling, and she understood the blame even more so. After the events of Halloween 1981, she felt like she could never be whole again, and although it was true that she wasn’t the same as she was back then, she also knew that the needle and thread of time had slowly patched her back together again. She had found solace in watching the growth of all of her students, but especially Harry- he had overcome so much just to be alive. She knew how proud they all would have been of him, especially James and Lily, who were always unfailingly kind, and although they never had the chance to raise him, Minnie could plainly see the best qualities of them both living through him. This was more of a comfort than Harry would ever realise.

She was just preparing her tray of biscuits when she heard that familiar knock on the door, and she could have sworn that it betrayed his feelings of despair better than any conversation ever could.

“Come in” she called, and Harry shuffled into the office. Minerva had felt it would be best to stay away from Dumbledore’s- The Headteacher’s- office for the time being, and had instead chosen her old study, which she had softened slightly in preparation for his arrival.

“Hullo Professor.” Said Harry as she ushered him in and sat him in the comfiest chair she could find. She has doing her best to make this easier for him, but she knew it wasn’t making much of a difference-Harry had barely looked up since he arrived. Once she had gotten them both sorted with a nice cup of tea, she sat down opposite and looked at him for a moment. Minnie thought that she had never seen that kind of sadness in Lily’s eyes before and disguised her heartbreak with a light cough. She didn’t really know how to do this so she figured she would just be open

“I need you to tell me everything, Harry” He looked up when she said this, as though he was startled to hear her voice and had only just realised he wasn’t sitting alone. She saw a few expressions flash along his tired face: anger, sadness, pain and then a sort of reluctant resolve.

“Ok, Professor”

* * *

Harry talked for a long time after that, and often Minerva couldn’t hide her shock or concern for the boy as he gave her a meticulous overview of all he had learnt and accomplished in his year away. Somewhere, deep within her, Minnie felt the familiar feeling of pride warming her from the inside, and frequently had to hold back a gasp as Harry began to reach the end of his story-more than one time she failed this, especially when she heard about Professor Snape. A wave of guilt washed over her when she realised the truth.

Once he reached the part about the Forbidden Forest, she couldn’t help but let out a muffled cry at all that he had been through, and although she was sure that Harry was sparing her the worst of the torture that had been inflicted upon his apparent corpse, Minnie knew that he had faced enough suffering for a lifetime in those few minutes alone. By this point she could feel a steady stream of tears escaping from her eyes at the thought of James and Lily’s son walking willingly to his death. Alone.

It took her a while to realise that Harry had stopped talking and was now staring down at his feet like a guilty schoolchild, which of course, was exactly what he felt like. McGonagall stood up at once and half-ran to where he sat before enveloping him in a deep hug. She felt him relax slightly in her arms and was grateful for the brief solace she was able to provide him. Not wanting to pull away, but sensing Harry’s restlessness, Minnie drew away and went back to her seat where she could see the shadow of a single tear running along the bridge of his nose. In that moment, she thought that she was 17 years younger seeing him for the very first time: small, lonely, and afraid. She so desperately wanted to comfort him, but nothing she could think of could even come close to addressing the sadness now cemented on the young boys face.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” she supplied, and when she was left with no response, she continued cautiously: “You did what you had to do. You killed him, Potter, you did what we all failed to do. We all would have been far worse off without you"

“Dennis wouldn’t have been” Harry whispered back, “Nor Colin or Fred or George or Remus or Tonks or Teddy-”

“Nobody blames you, Harry” As soon as she said she knew that it was unwise, but took comfort in the fact that the following outburst needed to happen

“I DO!” Cried Harry, his voice shaky and clearly hoarse, “I BLAME ME. AND IN CASE YOU DIDN’T NOTICE PROFESSOR, THERE IS A SAD LITTLE BOY WHO BLAMES ME TOO.” His voice faltered for a moment before continuing once more: “IT’S MY FAULT! IT’S MY FAULT THEY ARE DEAD. I KILLED THEM… I’m no better than Voldemort” The last part came out as barely a whisper but it shattered Minerva more than any curse ever could.

“Now you listen to me Harry Potter” replied McGonagall. Harry was surprised by the sudden sternness in her voice. She knew that he was expecting pity, and she also knew that she couldn’t give it to him no matter how much she wanted to comfort the sad little boy in front of her. “You are not like him.” She continued: “You have spent your life trying to protect the ones you love. You have sacrificed so much to help others, and you walked willingly to death knowing it might help your friends succeed. You are the best of us, Harry… But not even heroes can save everyone.” Minerva felt emboldened by the silence that followed and persisted. “They all knew what they were signing up for when they chose to fight. They weren’t fighting for you Harry – this isn’t all about you. They were fighting for their friends, their family, their neighbours and their children. They were fighting so that everyone who they loved could have a better life. You didn’t kill them Harry, you saved them. They can rest now, knowing that you forged the world they were fighting for. Because of you, Harry, they didn’t die in vain. Because of you, Harry, nobody is afraid anymore. And I know you can’t see it yet, but the rest of us can… You saved us all, Harry Potter, because a world led by Death Eaters is not a world I would elect to be apart of, do you understand?” Minerva didn’t really know what came over her, but she was glad that it did.

Harry looked up at her, speechless, with tears in his eyes once more: “Yes professor” he murmered

“I’m sorry Mr.Potter but you are going to have to speak louder” Minerva heard what he had said, but she needed him to hear it too

“Yes professor.” That was better

“Good. Now, let’s eat shall we, and I don’t want to hear another word from you about that, okay? Good.”

The food appeared on their silver plates instantaneously, and they both sat eating in silence for a while. Minerva couldn’t tell if it made Harry uncomfortable, but she didn’t mind it: she needed to plan how to approach the next conversation. She had just found the perfect approach when Harry broke the silence:

“Professor?”

“Yes Harry?”

“How are we going to honour them. The dead, I mean. We can’t hold proper funerals for them all, can we?

“That’s right, we can’t. The families have collected the bodies and have each decided on how they want to mourn their loss.”

“So that’s it then? We aren’t going to do anything” Harry retorted, clearly agitated by her apparent disregard for everyone who they’d lost the day before.

“Oh! Now I didn’t say that did I. What did you have in mind Mr. Potter?”

“Well, I was sort of thinking that we could maybe get some portraits done of each of them? Then we could display them around the grounds and open up the school for a day, you know, to let the world thank them for what they did?” Harry choked up at the end and Minnie could tell it was taking all of his strength not to give into the tears once more.

“You know what, Potter, I think that’s an excellent idea.”

Despite the situation, Minerva couldn’t help but beam at him – she saw him making progress in front of her very eyes and it nearly moved her to tears.

* * *

They both finished eating in a comfortable silence and when she looked up at him, Minerva could have sworn she saw the corners of his mouth had turned up slightly since the start of their meeting.

“I have a question for you." Harry looked up at her curiously, "Are you going to come back to finish your studies next year?” McGonagall figured that he hadn’t thought about it much but decided to ask anyway “You don’t need to decide now, of course.” She hastened to add.

Harry sat for a moment, clearly deep in thought before a look of sadness fell into his eyes. As soon as she saw it, she knew he had made up his mind, and that she probably wouldn’t like it.

“No. No I don’t think I will.” His eyes still looked sad as he spoke: “I want to do this right. No do-overs, no mistakes. I need to make sure that those people pay for what they have done, for the suffering they have caused. I don’t trust the ministry to do this right so...I don’t really think I’ve got a choice.”

“Of course you’ve got a choice, Harry. You don’t always shave to be the hero” Minnie replied half-heartedly, trying to change his mind. She so desperately wished for this little boy to just have a normal year, but deep down, she knew that he was right. He smiled lightly at this before continuing:

“Hogwarts has always been my home, but now it feels more like a prison. That part of Voldemort that died inside of me yesterday was a part of me. I need to know what it’s like to feel whole again, and I don’t think I’m going to find that out here…” He trailed off. It wasn’t so much of an argument as fact, and as much as she hated it, Harry was right. For too long this castle has been his world, now he needs to find where he stands in the new one he has just helped to create.

“These next few years aren’t going to be easy, Harry” McGonagall mused; “There are going to be a lot of people who want to talk to you, and you are going to have to let them. The people need to know.

“I understand” Harry replied softly. His voice was completely calm, he had resigned to this fate without any hesitation or resentment. “After all Professor, none of this has been easy. Why stop here?” They chuckled together, although Minnie couldn’t help but feel a pang in her stomach as she was reminded of everything Harry Potter had gone through, and everything he was yet to experience.

They continued making small talk (with McGonagall making sure to sneak in comforting comments every now and then) until dark and just as they made to say goodbye, Harry turned to look at her and she could tell there was something still weighing on his mind.

“Professor?” he asked, his voice sombre, “Do you think I could have a list of everyone who died, you know, in the Battle?” Minnie knew that this was coming, and had in fact prepared a copy for him before he arrived, but she was nevertheless taken back by the sadness in his voice. She looked at him quizzically, urging him to expand on why he wanted the list, but when he declined to take the bait, she gave up and handed it to him.

Harry masked his expression perfectly as he looked down the list from youngest to oldest. She wasn’t sure if he had been expecting it to be better or worse, but when he looked up at her again she could see his eyes swimming with tears once more.

“Thanks, Professor, really. It, er, it means a lot.”

“It’s no problem at all, Harry, I’ve loved teaching you… I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll write?” He offered as she brought him in for a hug.

“Get some sleep, will you Potter? And for Godric’s sake talk to Ginny! I bet Professor Slughorn 10 galleons that you two would end up together and we can’t have Slytherin house getting one up on us now can we?” She laughed as they walked together towards the door

“I’m sorry Professor but what did you just say?” Harry asked incredulously

“It’s been really lovely talking to you Harry!” McGonagall replied as she shooed him out the door.

“Erm. Yeah. Er, You too professor.” And with that she shut the door on a bewildered Harry and went to pour herself another cup of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to various TikTokers who gave me the idea of the teachers betting on students love lives!  
> I've never really done much dialogue writing before and I know McGonagall is an absolute legend so I hope I've done her justice...


	4. Preparations

Sunday 7th June 1998

Harry glanced down at Ginny, curled up underneath the covers, her red hair falling perfectly around her- a sleeping beauty. He had grown to love these early mornings of serenity, they were times when he could pretend he was a child again, and enjoy the blissful release of a carefree mind.

It had been over a month since his meeting with McGonagall…over a month since the day he’d gained everything but felt like he’d lost everyone, and himself, along the way. It still wasn’t easy, and he rarely went a night without waking up in a cold sweat before being soothed by Ginny next to him into yet another fitful sleep. But things _had_ gotten better, hadn’t they? Harry still felt the pain of everyone they’d lost, but he was starting to feel little moments of happiness again. For all the killing curses he had survived, he still didn’t feel like he’d properly lived, but he figured he ought to try, now, for everyone else who didn’t have that choice.

After their meeting, Harry felt strangely light. Although he was still wounded with grief, he also felt a new, fierce resolve to preserve the memory of every name on that list. So, in the month that had passed he worked passionately to give them the memorial they deserved. With the joint fortune he had accrued, Harry financed the creation of full-scale magical portraits for each and every victim of the battle. It was a huge project to undertake, but Harry wanted it finished as soon as possible in time for the death eater trials to begin.

Although the organisation of this was time-consuming, Harry also busied himself with the restoration of the castle - in the beginning he found that keeping occupied was the best way to hold off the ugly thoughts. One predicament which had befallen him was the removal of the pureblood propaganda which had been spread through the school under the watchful eye of the Carrows. Naturally, each item had been put up using a strong sticking charm, but never one to step down from a problem, Harry dedicated all of his free time to solving the issue. He brought the predicament to Hermione, and together they worked fervently to find a solution in time for the memorial.

No less than three days later they had created a spell which, when performed with the help of four others, could remove the protective charms placed upon the propaganda – it wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. It felt like a huge breakthrough, it wasn’t just that they had fixed the problem; Harry felt he had broken past a wall in the process.

For a brief second when the spell worked, Harry had wanted to rush to Sirius to tell him that they could finally remove that awful painting from 12 Grimmauld Place, and he felt a sharp pain when he remembered that he would never again be able to talk to his Godfather. It wasn’t the same raw pain though, he was learning to handle it, and was starting to see through the tears to the happiness they had shared. Healing was hard, and it took time, but for the first time since the battle, Harry felt he had the strength to get through it.

In normal times, or in a normal life, Harry might have been able to patent their creation and profit greatly in the process. But he had never had a normal life, and these were not normal times. Too many people needed the help to remove the awful remnants of Voldemort’s regime from their lives, and Harry felt a duty to help them move on from the horrors together.

In the first few weeks after the battle, Harry had put off sharing his story to the world: he didn’t know if he could sit and tell a story of victory after the loss he had been feeling. Nevertheless, it wasn’t up to him- the people needed to know. So once again, Harry became a servant to the public and relented to tell his story-only to the Quibbler of course. After it was published Harry blocked any unfamiliar correspondence-partly due to his fear of being yelled at as a villain, but even more due to his fear of being hailed as a hero. The guilt still echoed in his brain, and the words of Dennis Creevey still fought to be heard in the cacophony of his mind.

* * *

Harry looked down at the sleeping Ginny once more. The early Summer sun was glistening on her face as the light shadows caressed her cheekbones. In the busyness of the past month, Harry had yet to enjoy many moments like these, and he realised that his mind was not polluted with thoughts of death and loss as he thought it might be-only of hope and love. So much love. Perhaps he was making progress.

He checked the time: 5:15am. Sighing, he slowly manoeuvred out of the bed and across the dormitory-glancing in turn at Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, Neville and Luna. It had been Luna’s idea to all share a room while the preparations were being made, and they were just about to summon another bed for her when Seamus and Dean offered to share. Harry thought it was strange but said nothing-it really was no problem to summon another bed, and the dorm was definitely big enough…

As he entered the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. During the battle, his face had collected several new magical scars, which were scattered across his cheekbones. None were particularly well defined, but it still startled him when he saw them. He had imagined that he would hate any reminder of the battle, but seeing them often brought him comfort and happy memories of his time with Remus. In other news, Harry noticed that he was looking better than he had done in weeks, no doubt owing to the nightmare-free sleep he had so luxuriously enjoyed last night.

He quickly changed into some old flying gear and headed for the pitch. Although Quidditch was one his most dependable releases, he hadn’t had much of a chance to be alone with his thoughts. In the past month he had been too scared of where his mind would wander in the isolation of a flying session to really consider it, but something felt different today. Unsure of where this new-found optimism had arisen from, but grateful for it all the same, Harry entered out into the grounds. They had been decorated beautifully for the service later today and he enjoyed basking in the warmth of the morning sun as the cool breeze ushered him towards the pitch.

He was right. Flying was amazing. He darted around for what felt like hours until his mind was empty, and his stomach was growling. It was exactly the release he had hoped for and he chastised himself for not trying it out earlier. Nothing felt quite like an early morning flying session.

As he got off his broom, Harry was about to head to the Great Hall to see if he could catch some early breakfast, but in a moment of weakness was struck by the beauty of the castle grounds. Some of the final decorations were yet to be put up, and Harry knew that they would soon be busy preparing the grounds for visitors at 11am, but in this moment Harry just wanted to sit and stare. He pondered his options for a moment before electing to assume his favourite spot underneath an old willow tree and he removed his socks and shoes to dip his toes in the black lake-breakfast would have to wait.

He wasn’t aware of how long he had sat there, or what had come over him to ignore his raging stomach and face the ever-growing screams inside his brain, but he was happy to have done it. Suddenly the world didn’t seem so frail anymore, and the darkness he had experienced was outshined by the glistening of the light on the lake and the orchestra of birds humming quietly around him. Being surrounded by nature like this often made him wonder how anyone could live a life of darkness, when you only needed to look all around you to see the light bursting through. These were his favourite moments.

* * *

It wasn’t until his stomach was roaring and he heard the faint sounds of an awakening castle that he decided to leave his secluded heaven and grab some breakfast. When he arrived, he wasn’t surprised to find all of the tables empty-save for his friends, the rest of the Weasleys and a couple other members of the order, most students had gone home to their families. They would all be returning today though, and many more would join them to mourn the deaths of those brave enough to fight for the change they wanted to see.

His friends had not arrived for breakfast yet, but his stomach could wait no longer, and he chose a quiet spot in the corner of the ex-Slytherin table to eat and enjoy the peace. Having grown up in isolation, Harry often found refuge in being alone, and he relished these moments of seclusion. Still, he ate quickly, keen to get started on the final preparations for the memorial.

He recalled his mental to-do list and decided to first start by spreading the paintings across the grounds. They had deliberately chosen a day with perfect weather and the sun had begun warming the cool stone of the castle walls. He finished his breakfast with a newfound purpose and headed towards the grounds. In the Entrance Hall he picked up one of the guides which they had created in preparation. As well as being a map of Hogwarts, the guides were also marked with a neat route around the grounds. The fairly long walk would take you past each portrait which would be spread evenly along the path- now all Harry had to do was distribute each of them to their destination according to the guide.

Harry put a weightlessness charm on each portrait and levitated them all with intense concentration before setting out to place them in the grounds.

By the time he had finished, the rest of the grounds had been fully decorated, and Harry marvelled at the beautiful scenery. The path was graced with beautiful white lilies, roses, tulips and orchids, and Hogwarts felt more magical than ever. Next to each portrait lay a small empty book where visitors were invited to write about any happy memories they had shared, whilst the portraits themselves were surrounded by cards of thanks and praise that had been sent ahead in advance.

Harry could tell that it was starting to near 11 and so he headed back inside to meet with his friends and Professor McGonagall to orchestrate any final changes before the mourners started to arrive. Together, they had decided that Harry would not be there to welcome mourners into the grounds and would instead be taking his own time to mourn the people they’d lost. This didn’t stop Harry from feeling apprehensive though, and you would have to be naïve to believe that he wasn’t going to be sought out by all kinds of reporters and supporters. Still, he remained hopeful that he would get ample time to grieve. The thought of this summoned a lump in his throat and a familiar feeling began to rise in his stomach. He wasn’t sure whether to suppress it or let it out, but his decision was made for him when his friends spotted him from inside the castle and called for him. The visitors would be arriving soon and Harry’s mourning would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to skim over a lot of the healing process-instead choosing to focus on happy memories and thoughts. This is mainly because I feel like grief is a well covered subject in the books and I want to move Harry on to a life beyond the war. I hope it's not too sudden of a change, I just really want to get to writing about Harry's later life :)


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